Where Mercy Flows (22 page)

I hung up the phone and sobbed into my pillow, thankful that the television was on in the living room to drown the sounds.
I cried until there was nothing left. The hope that had trickled through me all those years dried up like a creek bed in a
drought. Later that night I scribbled on a newspaper until ink flowed freely from the pen and I signed his loathsome papers.

Lindsey and David came for dinner the next night. She brought a wedge of Brie, which she served as an appetizer with mugs
of hot spiced cider. The sweet aroma filled my room. “Room service,” she announced, pushing through my bedroom door and passing
me a china plate of crackers and cheese. “Samantha, you’ve been in here for days. Why don’t you come out and join us? I’ll
make a bed for you on the sofa.”

“No, thanks.” I slunk down on my bed, but it made me cough violently. I sat up, leaning against a bank of pillows, which relieved
the pressure in my chest. “Nobody wants to hear that over and over. I haven’t even showered today.”

“We don’t care. Come on. It’s just family. Or hop in the shower if it will make you feel better. You know I’ll be taking you
to the doctor in the morning, and we should get an early start because of the snow on the roads.”

“I’m not going to the doctor. I’m too tired. I’m just flat out too tired to live.” She cocked her head and gave me one of
her motherly looks. “I’m getting worse by the day. I don’t need to drive all the way into Seattle to have Dr. Sovold tell
me that. Not that he would. He’ll just give me another pep talk.
Hang in there, trooper
.” I mimicked his Arkansas accent. “
Any day now.
Do you know how many times I’ve heard that?”

“Samantha, this is about Tim and those divorce papers, isn’t it? You’re just depressed, that’s all.”

“I’m not going. I’ve made up my mind. I need to talk to you about something else. We need to talk about TJ.” I pushed myself
higher against the pillows behind me. “I don’t want him to be overprotected. I mean, I want him safe, of course, but a kid
needs to explore his world. He should be able to run free in the woods and fish until dark or even later if he wants. Not
now, of course. I’m talking about later. And if he doesn’t want to go to college, that’s okay. He should be encouraged to
follow his own dreams, whatever they are. I can’t see him sitting behind a computer all day, or fixing cars or anything like
that.” Lindsey wasn’t taking notes, but she was listening. “It’s good that you take him to church. I’m okay with all that.”

Lindsey smiled sadly, patiently. “Is there anything else?”

I sighed. This was not coming out right. What was I really trying to say? “You know how TJ is? Happy, innocent. So full of
life. He never wonders what people think of him. He just assumes that everybody likes him because he likes them. He marches
down the aisles at Carter Store singing a song he just made up without a sideways thought. There isn’t a worry in his head.
No fear. Growing up should make you better.” I shook my head thoughtfully. “Personally, I think I was wiser as a child.” I
searched my sister’s eyes. If anyone had the answer to this, it was Lindsey. She was the happiest person I knew. “Can you
help TJ to not lose himself in the process of growing up?”

Lindsey rose and walked to my bedroom window. The snow had stopped. “I know what you’re saying, Sam.” She seemed to ponder.
“Jesus said, ‘He who comes to me should come like a little child.’ I think what he meant is to come with absolute trust.”
She was silent for some time before she turned to me. “No, Sam. I can’t promise that TJ won’t lose that sweet naïveté of his.
I wish I could. But he’s going to find out about life and death, good and evil, pain and suffering. If you die, well, that
will be his first slap of reality. He’s already meeting kids who won’t share. It’s just a matter of time before some redneck
local points out to him that the only Mexicans around here are seasonal farmworkers. The fact of the matter is people can’t
be trusted. Even the people who love TJ are going to let him down. We’re not perfect.”

She walked to my bedside table. “Where’s that Bible I gave you?” Finding it on the lower tier, she wiped the dust off the
cover with her sleeve and sat next to me on the bed. “God is the only one who can be trusted like a child trusts a loving
father. I’ll teach him that. Whether you live or die, Sammy, that’s the most important thing for him to understand.” I don’t
think she realized that her hand was caressing the blue hardcover Bible on her lap like it was her beloved calico cat. “You
need to understand that too. Good
does
win over evil. There is one truth, just like Daddy says.” She held the book toward me, and when I didn’t take it she placed
it between us on the bed. “It’s all in here. TJ will lose his innocence—we all lose ours every day. But when we ask God to
forgive us, it’s like our screwups never happened. He doesn’t even remember them anymore.”

I found myself wanting to believe her. God loomed threateningly in my subconscious mind, the great Judge glaring down with
displeasure from His mighty throne. I didn’t dare enter His presence covered with my foul-smelling rebellion like Jonah after
he got spit up by the big fish.

That’s the way I still felt with my father, even though he had shown nothing but kindness to me and TJ. There was always this
thing between us that I didn’t know how to fix. A stink all over me that wouldn’t wash away. And when you know you stink,
you keep your distance.

Tim couldn’t get past it either.

Innocence. If only I could start all over as a little child.

C
OME ON, LAZY. Get up.”

I rolled over and pulled the blanket off my face. When my eyes focused, I saw Donnie leaning over me. “Who let you in here?”

“It’s not exactly the White House. You don’t even have a mean dog.”

“Where is everybody?”

He shrugged and walked to my closet. “What are you wearing today?”

I pulled the covers off, exposing my T-shirt and flannel drawstring pants. “What you see is what you get.”

He frowned. Hangers scraped back and forth on the rod until he pulled out a long black skirt Lindsey had bought me on one
of our trips to Seattle for my doctor’s appointment. He tossed it onto the bed.

“I’m not wearing that.” I stretched and sprawled across the crumpled sheets.

“Come on, Samantha. Get ready. Let’s go.”

“I’m sorry Lindsey wasted your time. I’m
not
going to the doctor. It’s too far. It takes all day to go to Seattle and then go through all the usual doctor bull, and he
never tells me anything I don’t already know. I know my heart is failing. I’m dying and there’s not a thing anybody can do
about it.”

“Doctor? I’m not taking you to the doctor.” He slapped the side of my thigh. “Come on. I haven’t got all day. Go brush your
teeth and do whatever you gotta do in the bathroom.”

“How dare you come in here and—” A cough interrupted me. “Leave me alone, Donnie.” I coughed again. “I can’t go anywhere!”

For an instant I thought he would go. He looked me over like maybe I wasn’t worth the effort after all. Instead, he went out
to the bathroom, returning with my hairbrush. He sat me up and began brushing my hair. “Ouch!” I yanked the brush from his
hand and gave my thick waves a few swipes. “Just where is it you think we are going?”

“To a funeral. A close friend of mine. I’d really like it if you could be there.”

“Believe me, Donnie. You do not want to take me out in public. I cough all the time and I can’t walk from here to the bathroom
without taking a break.”

“It’s okay. Trust me. I’ll carry you if you want me to.”

“Oh, yeah. That would be good. That would be real good.”

THE OUTSIDE AIR surprised my face. I inhaled deeply, which caused me to hack, which almost ruined the moment. Still, I smelled
winter. It was the pure scent of the river, devoid of earth smells and cottonwood leaves and salmonberries, which were gone
now or covered with snow. Donnie let me stand on the porch for a minute and then he helped me into the truck. I settled against
the seat and pulled my jacket tight around me. The black skirt draped just above my ankles and I wore a nice sweater but rebelliously
insisted on my brown logger boots instead of the daintier black shoes that had caused my downfall at Sarah’s wedding. I asked
Donnie, if men thought high-heeled shoes were so great, why didn’t they wear them? Time had worn the tanned leather of my
boots soft and supple. I hiked my skirt up so that I could admire them and because Donnie seemed to hate them so.

“So why won’t you tell me who died?”

“I don’t think you’re ready yet.”

I gasped. “It
is
someone I know. It’s Mason White.” He didn’t answer. “Am I right?”

“What makes you think of Mason?”

“I don’t know. He was just one of those guys who seemed destined to die young. I’m surprised he made it through high school.
He was into scuba diving and rock climbing and skydiving and drugs—not necessarily in that order.”

“I don’t know what ever happened to him. He’s been gone for years. Anyway, it’s not him.”

I quit asking. One thing I hated about Donnie was that he could be just as stubborn as I could. It was already early afternoon.
I wasn’t sure what day it was. Probably a weekday, because TJ was gone. Mom must have gone to pick him up from preschool.
When we got to the Carter Store, Donnie turned the truck toward Dixon. “I should have left a note,” I muttered.

“I did. I left them my cell phone number on the kitchen counter.” He reached into his pocket and tossed something into my
lap. I stared down at my pager. He must have grabbed it from my lamp table. That was the first time I’d ever forgotten it.
In a flash I remembered every time I had tested it to be sure it worked. The times I had run to it, thinking I heard the signal.
It was time to go. Time to get my life back. My hand closed around the small black device and I found myself squeezing, crushing
it with all the strength I had, trying to make it vibrate, scream, anything but lie there mutely taunting me. I rolled down
the window and hurled it into a pile of dirty snow.

Donnie whipped the wheel to the right and skidded to a stop on the slushy shoulder. “What did you do that for?”

“It doesn’t work.” His glare made me recoil. “Well, it doesn’t. I might as well be carrying a potato everywhere I go.”

I thought he would go look for it. He should have found it and clipped it to my jacket and made me promise not to do it again.
Instead, he checked his side mirror and pulled back onto the road with a shrug. “Yeah. I don’t blame you, Sam. It’s been a
long haul. I want you to know I admire you. I don’t know if I could have held on this long.”

I felt good for about a minute. What did he mean by that? What choice did I have?

We drove in silence until we reached the rest stop by the river, where we had parked that summer night to climb on the train
trestle. Now the lot was pocked with puddles of melting snow and streaked with tire tracks. I was surprised when Donnie pulled
in. “What’s going on?”

“We’re here.”

“You liar. This is not a funeral.” Donnie came around and opened my door. “I can’t walk out on those tracks, if that’s what
you’re thinking. I’m not supposed to overexert myself.”

He pulled a knapsack from under the seat. “You can do it. We’ll go slow.”

“It’s too far.”

“Get on my back.” Curiosity momentarily empowered me. I stood on the running board, hiked up the skirt and wrapped my arms
and legs around him. He linked his arms around my legs and strolled down the path through the trees that led to the trestle.
I heard the river and closed my eyes. Donnie’s hair was soft on my face. I held on tight. One hand inadvertently slipped inside
his jacket and the open collar of his shirt, but I didn’t move it. His skin was warm and smelled faintly spicy.

“Am I too heavy?” We were on the tracks now and his strides were long.

“No more than a bale of wet hay.” He didn’t say much. We finally reached the middle of the bridge, where the metal grid-work
arched above us like a cathedral. He put me down gently next to a vertical support. I linked my forearm inside its crisscrossing
metal and looked down.

It was not the carefree river of summer. The water was high on its banks, swollen with the melting snow; a loose flowing braid
of light and shadows, more shadows it seemed than light, undulating, writhing, moaning. Patches of snow above its banks were
spotted with bare brown earth and tufts of bent brown grass. Heavy clouds dragged slowly across the foothills, leaving cottony
combings among the treetops.

Donnie respected my reverie. I had not been this close to the river for a while. We sat and dangled our feet like that night
in June. He opened his knapsack and passed me an orange and then took it back and peeled it for me. “I can peel an orange,”
I said.

“But can you do it like this?” He stripped the peel off in one long spiral, pulled the orange into halves and passed me one.
He reached into the bag again, this time pulling out a bottle of Irish whiskey. “I would like to propose a toast.”

I laughed and slapped his shoulder with the back of my sticky hand. “You know I can’t drink that!”

“Why not? You’re dying anyway.”

I was shocked and offended. “You jerk! I can’t believe you said that. What kind of a friend—”

“The kind who calls it as he sees it. You’ve got lots of people telling you to hang in there. Just one more day. Tomorrow,
tomorrow. And how long has that been going on? You’ve told me yourself, Sam, your blood type is the hardest to match. What
are your chances of getting a heart in time? Look at you. Your face has about as much color as that sky. You’re skinny; you
cough all the time. I remember when you could climb to the top of this trestle and hang by your hands.” He threw a piece of
orange into the river. “A person knows when they’re dying. When I heard that you refused to go to the doctor, I knew that
you know. After all, they drop you from the transplant program for stuff like that. Not being totally committed to the program.
But I’m not telling you anything you haven’t already given a lot of thought.”